


nothing wrong with some fun (do something crazy)

by ceserabeau



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Gen, M/M, Porn With Plot, basically everyone's in it - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:14:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceserabeau/pseuds/ceserabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If someone had told Stiles before college that he'd end up being Vice President for one of the best fraternities on campus, he would've laughed in their face.</p><p>Now though, he can't imagine it any other way.</p><p>Or, Scott is the president of the Alpha Beta Omega Fraternity, Stiles is his Vice President, and Derek is the majorly annoyed cop that keeps arresting them for various Greek Life related hijinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _I Love College_ by Asher Roth (haha yes I know, ridiculous) 
> 
> Based on this amazing [gifset](http://rustincohle.tumblr.com/post/74121747732/teen-wolf-au-where-scott-is-the-president-of-the) on tumblr.

If someone had told Stiles before college that he’d end up being Vice President for one of the best fraternities on campus, he would’ve laughed in their face.

Now though, he can’t imagine it any other way.

Stiles nearly runs over a handful of sororities sisters before he makes it to the house. The ABΩ is still looking a little lopsided, but not as bad as last year. At least the house is no longer neon orange like the last time he saw it.

Scott’s standing on the porch when he pulls up, wearing what can only be described as the most horrendous orange hat in existance.

“Man, I can’t believe you’re late,” he shouts to Stiles. “What kind of VP are you?”

“You chose me, asshole,” Stiles yells back through the window. Scott just throws his head back and cackles.

It’s already shaping up to be a good year.

-

Erica calls him at lunchtime. “I need you and your sidekicks, Batman,” she says and promptly hangs up.

When Stiles makes it to the Kappa Sigma Alpha house twenty minutes later with half the brothers in tow, Erica is on the front lawn, surrounded by cardboard boxes. She’s directing the sisters in moving their stuff inside, not lifting a hand herself.

“Is this the role of a responsible president?” Stiles asks her.

“I’m asserting my dominance,” Erica says, reeling him in for a hug. Stiles carefully avoids her talons; they’ve been friends for two years and he still has nightmares about that time freshman year when she nearly clawed his eyes out.

“So why do you need us if you’ve got your minions doing all the work?” Isaac asks as he surveys the scene, clearly trying to find Allison amongst the organised chaos.

Erica grins, point at a stack of boxes with _heavy_ written on them in marker. “I need some heavy lifting.”

There’s a chorus of groans. “If you wanted some guys, why didn’t you just rope in the Deltas?” Danny asks as he tries to lift the first box. “They’re practically next door.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “You know why.”

Yeah, Stiles does know. Of all the frats, Delta Theta Nu are the worst. They think they’re hot shit, mostly because Jackson’s an asshole who encourages them to think like that, and it means they don’t have a lot of friends on the row.

“Good thing you’ve got us then,” he says, and goes to save Danny from the box threatening to drop its contents on his feet.

-

There’s a guy in uniform on the doorstep. He’s young, handsome, and Stiles can’t help whistling.

“Did someone call a stripper?” he calls into the house.

The guy raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and taps the badge on his waist. “I’m with the UCPD,” he says and whoops, not a great start to the year. “I’m here about a noise complaint.”

Wow, his voice is doing all sorts things for Stiles and – what? “Noise complaint?”

Scott comes barrelling down the hallway and knocks Stiles out the way. "Hey, sorry, yeah, it was the guys as Gamma Kappa Nu that called and I just spoke to them. We didn't realise how loud it was, sorry.”

The guy – Deputy – still looks suspicious, even though Scott is using all his boyish charm. “Are you throwing a party?” he asks, peering around them slightly.

Stiles is suddenly glad that he put down his beer, because the Deputy is scowling like he’s one of those really uptight officers that they sometimes have to deal with.

“No,” Scott says, with the megawatt grin he uses to con professors into giving him extensions and Stiles into being his VP, “we were just trying out the new speakers. Guess they’re just as good as the store promised.”

The Deputy gives them a look that clearly says he doesn’t believe a word Scott’s saying, but in the end he just says, “Just keep it down,” and walks away.

The view from behind is just as good as from the front. Stiles will deny forever that he makes any noise even slightly similar to a moan.

“Gross, dude,” Scott says, and stomps away down the hall.

Stiles is unable to tear his eyes away from the Deputy’s retreating backside, so he just yells “Are you an elephant?” over his shoulder, because after twenty one years Scott really should have mastered the art of walk quietly.

-

Because Stiles is a junior, he sometimes has to do things like actual coursework even though he’d rather be planning rush events like a good VP.

He and Erica take over a corner of the library and barricade themselves with their million econ textbooks around them like a wall. He quizzes her on hyperstagflation and the Scitovsky paradox. She gets him back by asking about circular cumulative causation.

“Try saying that five times faster,” Stiles says.

Erica points her pen at him threateningly; Stiles is reminded that she plays lacrosse and therefore has good enough aim to take his eye out without even trying. He goes back to his reading, but after fifty pages he is mind-numbingly bored.

“So hey, what do you know about the new Deputy?” he asks, because if anyone has the gossip, it’ll be Erica.

She shrugs at him. “He’s hardly new. He started in the summer; I mean, that’s when he started threatening to arrest me and Isaac at least. I think Allison knows him somehow."

That sparks his curiosity. “How?” he asks, but Erica doesn’t look up from her notes, just continues covering the page in her chicken scratch handwriting. “No seriously, how does she know him? I want to know him too.”

It’s a testament to Erica’s strength of will that she only rolls her eyes. “Ask Allison,” she says and flips the page.

Stiles hates her. “I hate you,” he says.

“Will you shut up?” Stiles scowls at her; she just smiles sweetly back. “Now, tell me about neo-Ricardianism.”

Stiles drops his forehead to the table with a groan. What the hell was he thinking when he chose economics as his major?

-

Christmas comes up fast. After weeks of exams and papers and partying, Stiles drives himself and Scott home, and then passes out within minutes of getting through the door.

“Glad to see you’re getting enough sleep at school,” his dad says when he finally makes it downstairs close to twenty hours later.

Melissa’s cooking at the stove and Stiles presses a kiss to her cheek as he passes. “Something smells good,” he says.

“Bolognese,” she tells him. “Turkey not beef, whole-wheat pasta, low fat cheese.”

“Best mom ever,” Stiles tells her as he fishes a soda out of the depths of the fridge. “I hope you haven’t been drinking these,” he says to his dad.

His dad groans. “Go back to college already,” he says and dramatically slumps down on the table. “When you’re not here, my life is so much better.”

“And unhealthier,” Stiles points out.

“Stop bullying your dad,” Scott says as he crashes into the kitchen and steals Stiles’ can from his hand. “Thanks bro.”

“ _Bro_?” Melissa says, sounding outraged, “Who are you and what have you done with my son?”

-

Rush week is the most insane week of Stiles’ life, including the time his dad and Melissa decided to elope to Hawaii without telling him or Scott. He makes it to Wednesday with less than twelve hours sleep, then nearly misses that evening’s event when he passes out in his room after class.

By Friday morning, he’s passed exhausted and heading towards dead, and Scott’s grin is closer to manic than excited. They’re clearly being more useless than useful, because Boyd and Isaac hustle them in the direction of the nearest Starbucks under the pretence of a coffee run.

They’ve just sat down to enjoying their well-deserved break when Jackson throws himself into the booth next to Scott.

“McCall,” he says in his annoyingly douchebaggy voice, “I want the twins.”

If it had been a year ago, Scott probably would have already punched Jackson. To his credit, he doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Hello Jackson, nice to see you too.”

Jackson grabs the phone and slams it onto the table. “I’m serious,” he says, and he’s glaring at both of them now, “I’m giving them both a bid, so back off.”

“You can’t claim them,” Stiles has to point out, because clearly Jackson doesn’t understand how the whole pledge thing works. “We’re giving Ethan a bid too.”

Jackson just rolls his eyes, a long-suffering look on his face. “Look, you can have Greenburg instead. That’s my final offer.”

Which is fine, because they’ve already decided that they want Greenburg; kid’s hilarious when he’s not being invisible. But that’s beside the point.

“We can both make an offer,” Scott says, voice completely level even though his hand is white around his coffee cup. “It’s up to him which one he chooses.”

“He’ll choose us,” Jackson says, and with that he flounces off. _What a dick_ , Stiles thinks, before an idea hits him.

“You know,” he says, “If we get Danny to give Ethan his bid, he’ll definitely join us.”

Scott just stares at him like he’s hung the moon.

In the end they lose a few potential pledges to Jackson and a couple more to the guys at Sigma Chi. But the Danny play works because they get Ethan as well as Greenberg and a handful of others. All in all, it’s a pretty sweet pledge class.

They are going to crush the Deltas at Greek Week.

-

Stiles is halfway through a never-ending essay on dumb agent theory – and really, who comes up with these names? – when he gets the call.

“You need to come home right now,” Scott shouts down the phone, voice rising with something that might be panic. In the background, Isaac is shrieking like a little girl and there’s an all too familiar clucking noise.

Stiles runs.

When he makes it back to the house ten minutes later, totally out of breath, the entire fraternity is standing on the front lawn, staring hopelessly up at the house. Scott is slumped over on the steps, head in his hands. Isaac looks close to tears.

Scott looks up, mouth a tight line. “We got chickened again.”

Sure enough, when Stiles opens the front door there’s a flurry of angry squawking as a dozen chickens made a break for the exit. He slams the door on their indignant flapping and goes to sit by Scott.

“Jackson?” he asks, wrapping an arm around Scott’s shoulders.

Scott nods. “I already called someone to deal with it,” he says and sure enough, animal control shows up ten minutes later, the girls hot on their heels.

“Boyd called me,” Erica says, and throws her arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “How you guys holding up?”

Stiles gestures to the chaos going all around them: the brothers milling around, looking lost; Isaac recovering from his panic attack, Allison’s arms wrapped tight around him; Scott moaning into Kira’s shoulder, _where did they even get them from?_

“You know, I went easy on them last year,” he tells her. “They won’t know what’s hit them.”

Erica laughs at him. “This is war?”

It is definitely war. If only because someone has quite clearly abused their knowledge of Isaac’s crippling fear of birds. It’s one thing to prank; it’s another to take advantage of a serious phobia like that.

“You know it,” he says.

“Are you vowing revenge on someone, Stilinski?” a voice says.

When he turns around, Jackson and his little pack of Deltas are in their yard, looking unbearably smug. Daehler has a shit-eating grin on his face, and Stiles is 99.9% certain that he’s the one that got hold of the chickens.

Scott jumps up like he’s going to attack, and Kira holds him back. If anything, it makes Jackson’s grin grow even bigger

“Should’ve let us have Ethan,” he says.

Right, that’s it, Stiles is going to go Spartan on his ass, when a cop car pulls up and Deputy Laura gets out.

Deputy Laura is one of Stiles’ favourite cops. His other favourite is Deputy Parrish, wonderful pretty boy Parrish who always gives as good as he gets – but in this situation Deputy Laura is definitely the one he wants on the scene. Not only because she’s hot, but because she’s ex-Kappa and is generally pretty cool about the crazy Greek stuff they get up to. And she dislikes Jackson just as much as Stiles does.

“Scott, Stiles,” she says, “Does one of you want to tell me what’s going on here?"

Stiles is more than willing to rat Jackson out, but when he looks up the Deltas have slunk off. So instead he vows revenge and tells Laura, “It was just a harmless prank, no need to worry.”

Laura looks behind them at where the animal controls guys are trying to corral the chickens that have managed to escape onto the porch. She manages to school her face into a disapproving frown, but Stiles can see how hard she’s trying not to laugh.

“The UCPD doesn’t condone pranks,” she says, “particularly if they involve animals. But if this was the work of the Deltas,” and she winks at them, “you have my permission to give them hell.”

Scott makes a surprised noise, because what? Laura just smiles serenely at them (and Stiles is already trying to figure out ways to thank her for being so awesome) and turns to go.

“If Cora is anything as badass as she is,” Kira says into the shocked silence that follows her exit, “we’re gonna have such a good year.”

Cora? “Who’s Cora?”

“Laura’s baby sister,” Erica tells him, “she’s pledging us.”

That is the best news Stiles has heard all day. As if Laura needs any more reasons to love them, her sister is pledging their sisters.

Oh man, it really is going to be a good year.

-

The Kappas throw their annual Desperation Day party and Stiles is tasked with digging Lydia out from under her pile of textbooks.

“The numbers will still be there in the morning,” Stiles tells her when he finds her sequestered in the depths of the library.

“But my brain might not be,” she says from behind a book on quantum mechanics.

All Stiles can see of her is the top of her head where her hair is piled up in a bun, so he confiscates the tome. She glares at him and if Stiles was a freshman, he’d probably be intimidated. As if stands, he’s not and years of being on the receiving end of Lydia’s killer stare has inoculated him against its fierceness.

“Are you trying to tell me that Lydia Martin, resident genius, can’t take a break for one night?”

And that gets her attention. “Fine,” she says, already holding her notepad out for details, “what’s the theme?”

-

The theme is Seven Deadly Sins and the Kappa house is packed by the time Stiles gets there. Mostly people are just wearing clothing in a spectrum of bright colours, but there are some original outfits in there too. There’s someone in a fat suit, a couple of people as devils, someone in Speedos painted entirely green. Scott, ever the joker, is wearing a sloth outfit.

Stiles gets stuck with the pledges for a bit, making sure they’re not too wasted. _Where are you?_ he texts Lydia.

 _About to make my grand entrance_ , she replies, and then appears in the doorway in a tight silk dress the same bright green as her eyes.

A cheer goes up the moment people notice her. She waves to Stiles across the dance floor and heads in his direction immediately. Stiles likes to think it’s because they’re friends, but really it’s because she knows he knows where all the good alcohol is stashed.

“Who’s that?” Greenberg asks as the crowd parts like the Red Sea to let her through.

“You mean Lydia?”

Greenberg’s mouth drops open and Stiles grins. She might not be Greek, but Lydia Martin is a campus legend.

Speaking of, suddenly she’s in front of Stiles, stealing his cup from his hand. “Point me in the direction of the pledges,” she demands.

“Here’s one for you,” Stiles says and gestures to Greenberg, standing stock still beside him.

Lydia eyes him up and down for a moment. Greenberg looks like he’s moments away from passing out in shock. Stiles can see the moment Lydia decides she likes what she sees, because her gaze turns predatory and Greenberg flushes under the intensity of it.

“Hi,” she says and smiles, wolf-like, “what’s your name?”

Stiles is tempted to stay and watch Lydia absolutely destroy his pledge, but now he needs another drink. In the kitchen, Allison and Scott are having one of their intense drunken catch-ups that happen every month or so. Considering how dramatically they imploded at the start of sophomore year, Stiles sometimes wonders how they can even look at each other.

Rather than interrupt he just gets a drink and leaves them alone, picking his way through the crowd. There’s no less than five couples making out against various walls, and judging from the line for the bathroom someone’s having sex in there – standard Desperation Day.

When he gets to the main hallway, Stiles can hear Erica somewhere, arguing with someone. “We registered months ago,” she’s saying, loud enough to be heard over the thumping bass. “If you just give me two seconds, I’ll go get the paperwork.”

He follows the sound of her voice and finds Deputy Laura and Deputy Hotstuff standing in the doorway.

“Stiles,” Deputy Laura says.

“You,” Deputy Hotstuff says.

Laura turns to look at her partner with a raised eyebrow. “Derek,” she says, and yes that is a perfect name for him, “I didn’t realise you knew Stilinski.”

Stiles grins at them. “Oh we’ve met.”

Hostuff – Derek – glares at him. “He thought I was a stripper,” he says to Laura. She nearly doubles over, howling with laughter.

It goes on for a while. Laura eventually recovers her breath enough to choke out, “Paperwork,” before the frowny glare Derek has turned in her direction sets her off again: “A stripper, _oh my god_.”

Stiles taps Erica on the arm; “I’ll grab it,” he tells her and makes himself scarce before Derek can strangle him like he obviously wants to.

By the time he gets back, the number of couples making out along the walls has doubled and Laura has finally managed to stop laughing.

“Here you go,” he says and presents the documents to her with a flourish.

“Thank you,” she says, and Stiles gets the feeling she’s talking about more than just the paperwork. She reads through the pages quickly and hands it back. “You have a good night. Sorry Derek can’t join in the –”

Derek claps a hand over her mouth, and wow, his face is an interesting shade of purple. “We’ll be leaving now,” he says and drags Laura away, still spluttering with laughter behind his hand.

His ass looks as good as ever as he walks away. Stiles may or may not sigh in appreciation.

Erica laughs at him. “Hate to see them leave, am I right?”

She is right, as always. Stiles forces himself to spend the rest of the night trying to forget how good Derek looked in those polyester pants by attaching himself to one of the guys from Sigma Chi by his mouth. If the guy looks a little like Derek, no one has to know.

-

Midterms kick everyone’s ass, but Alphas aren’t known for backing down so they find the time to go after Jackson and the Deltas. Isaac is a good pledge master, possibly the best since Ennis was theirs way back when, so he whips the pledges into shape and sends them out to do the dirty work.

On the first day of midterms, the Deltas all rush out of the house to get to their first exams on time and the Alphas get to watch every single one of them slip over on the greased-down porch.

A week later, the pledges pry open all the windows in the Delta house so that they can throw smoke bombs through, locking them after to make sure the Deltas feel the full impact.

Halfway through, when everyone’s exhausted and just desperate for sleep, hidden alarm clocks go off every hour on the hour from midnight to five a.m.

By the last week, the Deltas are on their guard. Jackson keeps sending Stiles angry texts: _I know what you did, I’m going to get you back, just you wait Stilinski_. Isaac lets them have a week of respite before rounding up the pledges for their final assault.

There’s only one day left of midterms, and Stiles knows for a fact that it’s Jackson’s last exam at nine a.m. So in the middle of the night, the pledges let the air out of all the tyres on every Delta’s car.

Stiles gets woken by Jackson’s screaming outside his window, face contorted with rage. He takes a photo for posterity and goes back to sleep.

-

Spring Break is a haze fuelled by a lot of weed and a lot more booze. Danny’s parents have a condo in Miami so most of the upperclassmen head there, and the girls gatecrash like they’ve done every Spring Break since freshman year.

Scott grows a weird goatee and Stiles goes back to the buzz cut he had all through high school. Kira nearly drowns trying to surf. Boyd and Erica finally admit that they’ve been hooking up, even though everyone already knows because they’ve all been listening to the two of them having sex for months.

Danny negotiates a truce with Jackson, being actual friends with him and all. They swear to keep it over Skype, Scott and Stiles and Jackson and Daehler all placing their hands on a bible and promising to uphold whatever Danny’s come up with.

Unsurprisingly, the truce falls apart within a week of being back when they catch three of the Delta pledges red-handed trying to refill all their shampoo with Nair.

“Good try,” Stiles says, “but not good enough.”

The pledges just glare at him, but it’s pretty obvious that they’re shitting themselves a little. Just to mess with them a bit more, he gets Boyd to call the cops. It’s not long before someone shows up, and surprise, surprise, it’s Deputy Derek looking as handsome as ever.

“My knight in shining armour,” Stiles says just to make him frown.

Derek ignores him. “You called about someone breaking in,” he says.

“Yeah,” Stiles tells him, “These little shits thought they could prank us again.” If he’s a little smug about stymieing their efforts, no one calls him on it.

Derek just ignores him, again. “Do you want to press charges?” he asks Scott.

“ _No_ ,” Scott says vehemently, “We’d just like them to be escorted home.”

Derek eyes them all darkly, like he can’t quite figure out if he’s having a prank played on him. “I can do that,” he says eventually and Stiles just grins at him. “But,” he says as he hustles the pledges out, “The next person to pull a prank is getting arrested. No matter what Laura says.”

-

As Stiles predicted, the Alphas kill it during Greek Week and uphold their reputation of being the best fundraisers on campus.

They host tug-of-war in their backyard and it turns into mud wrestling when someone (read: Scott) breaks out the hose. The Alphas win out of the frats, but the girls at Phi Epsilon Delta prove to be stronger than anyone thought and take them down.

Boyd and Scott fail miserably at the spelling bee, but Stiles lasts right up until the final round when _staphylococci_ throws him off his game. Isaac comes up with fantastic choreography for the dance competition, and somehow convinces the pledges – or coerces, Stiles isn’t entirely sure – into doing it in drag. The dodgeball tournament is particularly vicious, especially when they have to play the Deltas. Greenberg gets a black eye when Daehler elbows him in the face, and Aiden and Ethan end up in a wrestling match that the referee has to break up.

They blow everyone out of the water at the bachelor auction, if only because everybody ropes in their classmates to get in on the action. Their lowest bid is still higher than Jackson’s ("Because everyone knows he’s an asshole," Scott says and high-fives Stiles across the table). Heather, Stiles’ RA from freshman year whose life he made hell for nine months, and her roommates band together to buy him. He spends five hours cleaning their apartment while they write their thesis defences and make comments about how good his ass looks when he bends over.

Unfortunately the Deltas are the ones hosting the end of week party. And because Jackson and Daehler are unoriginal assholes who’ve watched _Animal House_ too many times, the theme is toga.

Stiles hates having to rip up a perfectly good sheet for the sake of a Delta party, but it’s more than worth it for the amount of hair dye he can smuggle under its baggy shape. He and Isaac pull the pledges upstairs just before midnight and stand guard while they swap out all the shampoo they can find for pinks and purples and blues.

Aiden spots them lurking but Lydia, amazing woman that she is, waylays him.

“I hear you’ve got a talented mouth, pledge,” Stiles hears her stay, just before she presses Aiden against the wall and slants her mouth over his.

“Subtle,” he hisses at her as he hustles the pledges back down the stairs. She flips him the bird without looking.

Their prank goes undiscovered for nearly twenty four hours. All the Deltas are hungover, so no one sees anyone else until firs thing Monday morning when their shouts echo down the block.

When they finally emerge, it turns out only a handful escaped the dye. The rest look like rejects from a Nicki Minaj video, and thank god Danny’s managed to video it because Stiles wants to watch Jackson’s face turning bright red beneath the shock of equally bright pink hair on his head on repeat for the rest of his life.

-

It’s Boyd who comes up with their final prank while they’re eating dinner.

“Ultimate payback,” he says, and there are nods all around the table. Nobody fucks with the Alphas and gets away with it.

Because it’s suspicious for frat boys to buy several hundred eggs at one time and because no one’s entirely sure where to even get live animals, it takes a couple of weeks to get the supplies together. But eventually they’re ready and Stiles puts his lock picking skills to good use for the first time in his life.

An hour later they’re done. Greenberg magics up a gong from somewhere and Stiles takes great pleasure in banging it as loud as possible outside every door on their way out.

He’s only halfway down the stairs when the first door opens. Both him and Scott pause for a second, and sure enough there’s the telltale cracking noise as someone steps on the eggs neatly lined up outside their door.

“What the _fuck_?” Jackson’s voice says before he’s drowned out by the squawking of thirty chickens disturbed from their rest.

“I am Jack’s smirking revenge, motherfucker,” Scott shouts out as they bolt out the door, because what’s the point in being a lit major if you can’t quote Palahniuk every now and then?

It isn’t until the morning that Stiles remembers Derek’s threat.

-

“Can they even arrest for this?” Boyd asks.

Stiles just glares at him. “You’re the one who wants to be a lawyer!”

Boyd just rolls his eyes and settles back onto the bench. Isaac and Scott are playing tic-tac-toe in the dust on the floor. Stiles bangs his head against the wall a couple of times, like maybe he can knock himself into an alternate reality where he’s not in jail if he tries hard enough.

It’s then that Deputy Laura appears around the corner. “When he said he was going to arrest you I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

She looks like she’s trying not to cry with laughter, but that doesn’t stop Stiles from shouting out, “Tell me you’re here to break us out!”

“Something like that,” and Laura unlocks the doors, “You’ve been bailed out.”

Danny’s at the front desk, signing a pile of paperwork. “You guys are idiots,” he says, but his grin is blinding.

When they get closer, it’s Deputy Derek behind the desk, surrounded by stacks of papers that make Stiles’ essays look like child’s play. He looks up at them with his standard disapproving look. Stiles just wants to lick his downturned eyebrows.

“We’re so sorry,” Scott says immediately. “It got out of hand, I _promise_ nothing like that will happen again.”

“Any more pranks,” Derek says, his frown smoothing into something blanker, more professional, “And it’ll be more than just a warning.”

Everybody nods their agreement, even though it’s pretty obvious that any peace is only going to last until the end of the year and if Derek thinks otherwise, he’s clearly an idiot. A pretty idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

This is the closest Stiles has been to said idiot in at least two months, which is two too long. So he leans on the desk and puts on his best come-hither smile. “Want to get a drink some time?”

Derek’s expression remains entirely passive, and Stiles really needs to learn how to do that if only so he can start winning at poker.

The silence drags and Stiles starts feeling a little awkward, like maybe he’s overstepped this time, until Derek finally says, “You’re in college.”

Stiles just grins at him.

It’s not a no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up being a lot less Sterek and a lot more Scott and Stiles being bros, whoops. Also apologies for any and all mistakes, I'm English and have very little understanding of the Greek system beyond what Google and endless viewings of Animal House/American Pie can tell me. 
> 
> Edit: So the first chapter of this fic is possibly my least favourite thing I've ever written but I'm too lazy to rewrite it. So go read the second instead because it's better, as in it's mostly porn.


	2. Chapter 2

First day back and there’s already a dozen noise complaints from frat row. Parrish throws the incident sheet at Derek with a grin.

“You can do them,” he says. “I know how much you love going down there.”

Derek wonders for a moment if there’s something in the water that makes everyone at the UCPD unbearable assholes, before picking up the clipboard and heading for the car. Parrish doesn’t notice the middle finger Derek waves in his direction as he leaves, but it makes him feel better all the same.

Unsurprisingly most of the noise complaints are about Alpha Beta Omega. It’s one of the smaller houses on the block but without fail they always get the most call outs. Laura always says it’s because the other houses are jealous of how cool they are so they complain a lot, but Derek is fairly sure it’s because McCall and Stilinski are troublemakers that can’t control their brothers.

The two of them are sitting on the steps when he gets there. They’re leaning into each other and grinning like the little shits they are, so Derek takes an educated guess that they’re probably drunk. When he gets closer and sees the collection of empties behind them, he revaluates: not drunk, wasted.

“Deputy Derek,” Stilinski slurs, “What brings you out here this fine day?”

Derek eyes them both. “Public intoxication,” he tries.

“You can’t arrest us,” Stilinski tells him. “This is private property. And we’re both over 21.”

“But not your private property,” Derek reminds him. “I could arrest you.”

“Please don’t arrest us,” McCall says, staring up at him. Derek is reminded of a puppy.

“He’d arrest us for breathing,” Stilinski says, patting McCall on the arm gently before tilting his face up so he can get a good long look at Derek. “Not that I’d mind you putting handcuffs on me.”

And Derek has not missed that over the summer: Stilinski’s endless flirting, his heavy gaze, the way he always eyes Derek up and down like he’s the best thing he’s seen all day. No matter what Laura says.

“We’ve had noise complains,” he tells McCall because drunk or not, he’s still the president.

“There’s no noise,” Stilinski tells him. “Scott, can you hear any noise?”

“Only the noise you’re making,” McCall says, and pushes Stilinski down the steps with a hand to the face. He lands in a heap by Derek’s feet, moaning and groaning, and McCall immediately looks apologetic. “Shit dude, are you ok?”

Stilinski’s head comes up, and Derek is reminded on one of the meerkats on those shows Cora always watches on the Discovery Channel. “Yeah, Scotty,” he says, “I’m fine. All good.”

He rearranges himself so that he’s propped up against the bottom step, long legs sprawled across the path. He looks really good, loose limbed and languid, a sloppy grin on his face as his head lolls back against the stair, showing off the long line of his neck. It takes longer than Derek would like to admit to tear his eyes away, squashing the desire to press his mouth to Stilinski’s skin. Shit, he’s got a problem.

He takes a steadying breath, says, “If you’re going to drink, do it inside. And keep the volume turned down.”

McCall nods an affirmative, but when Derek glances down, Stilinski is eyeing him slyly. “Whatever you says, boss,” he says, and _winks_.

Derek grits his teeth. “Have a good day,” he gets out, and tries not to run back to his car like he wants to.

“Do you think he buys his pants a size too small?” Stilinski says as he walks away.

Derek tries to find some anger in himself to glare at Stilinski over his shoulder, but all he can feel is the rush of heat that makes his cheeks burn, a heady mix of arousal and embarrassment washes over him at the idea of Stilinski checking his backside out. 

God, he’s fucked. So _so_ fucked.

-

Stiles wakes up to his alarm with Scott wrapped around him like the world’s sweatiest octopus. His mouth tastes like ass. Boyd is leaning over them with an unimpressed look on his face.

“Get up,” he says, shoving at them. “Come on – we have stuff to do.”

Downstairs the rest of the guys are shoved onto couches, piled on top of each other like puppies. Stiles can’t help the rush of feeling when he sees them. This is his family and sometimes he forgets how much he loves them.

The room quietens when Scott stands. “Glad to see you all. I hope you had a good summer. But to the first order of business – rush.” There’s a collective groan from the room. “Seriously, we need to start planning. I’m not letting Jackson steal anyone from us this year, so we have to be on our A-game.”

Isaac tilts his head back over the couch to look at them. “Do we actually have to listen to follow your plan?” he asks thoughtfully. “I’m pledge master, don’t I get to call the shots?”

Scott frowns at him. “Dude,” he says, “I’m your _president_.”

“I didn’t vote for you,” Danny says.

“Yeah,” Boyd chimes in, “None of us did.”

“That’s because no one was running against us,” Stiles says, and glares at them all. Not a single one of them looks even slightly cowed. “ _Assholes_.”

Isaac waves a middle finger at them over his shoulder. Surprisingly, the rest of the meeting goes off without a hitch.

It’s only later when Stiles is attempting to find his towel to shower that he thinks about what happened yesterday. Him and Scott on the porch for hours, drinking and laughing and joking with each other. He has a vague memory of a cop car, sunlight glinting off a golden logo.

He throws a shirt at Scott to get his attention. “Did someone from UCPD come by yesterday?” he asks.

Scott nods at him. “Yeah, Derek came to tell us to shut up.”

 “I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I?”

Scott laughs. “Like confess your love?” He ducks the next shirt Stiles throws his way. “Nah, man, you’re good.”

Stiles thinks about it in the shower, letting the hot water chase away his hangover. He tries to remember is clearly, if Derek was wearing sunglasses, if he looked tanned from the summer sun, but all his can think of is Derek’s frown, the way his arms bunch under his uniform, his ass in those stupidly tight trousers.

If he jerks off thinking about that, no one has to know.

-

The semester drags on, filled with papers and parties. Rush goes well, Isaac scares the shit out of the pledges, and Stiles stops Scott from breaking Jackson’s face on several occasions. His dad calls once a week to nag him about finding a job for after graduation, and between that and the looming exams, Stiles is starting to go stir crazy by the time October rolls around.

“I need a break,” he tells Scott one afternoon, both of them with textbooks open on the desk in front of them but neither of them actually doing any reading.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Didn’t you just have one? When you went to go get food?”

Stiles makes an impatient noise. “No, like, a real break.” He flips a few pages, sighs, thunks his head onto the desk. “I need to go out. I need to get _drunk_.”

Scott laughs at him. “You sound like such an alcoholic,” he says. Stiles gives him a pointed look: he’s the one with an open beer. Scott just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Tomorrow’s Halloween. Just hang in there until then.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, turning to glance at the clock. Only twenty-four hours until he can have some fun. “I will.”

Twenty-six hours later and Stiles is drunk. Like, really _really_ drunk. Slurring words drunk. Falling down drunk.

“We get it, dude,” Isaac says, “You’re drunk.”

They’re at the Phi Epsilon house and everyone is in stupid costumes. The music is loud and the lights are making Stiles’ head spin, bright flashes of colour dancing in his vision. He throws himself down onto one of the couches where his friends are gathered, sandwiching himself between Isaac and the armrest. Erica drops down on his feet, tilting her head back into his lap; she wants him to play with her hair, like she always when she’s four drinks deep.

“So hey,” she mumbles as he combs the long strands with his fingers, “What’s going on with you and that hot Deputy?”

It’s then that Allison slides onto the couch next to Isaac, graceful as a cat. “What Deputy?” she asks.

“Deputy Derek,” Isaac tells her.

Allison leans forward so she can get a look at Stiles. “Derek?” she says incredulously. “You’re dating Derek?”

“I forgot you know him,” Erica says helpfully.

Stiles slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m not dating Derek. I mean, I’d like to date Derek,” and everyone laughs. Has he really been that obvious? “But I don’t think I’m his favourite person.”

“Why not?” Allison asks, sympathetic.

“Stiles keeps flirting with him,” Isaac tells her as he curls an arm around her shoulders. “ _Badly_.”

Stiles glares. “He keeps threatening to arrest me,” he corrects.

Allison laughs. “That’s just what he’s like,” she says. “He pretends to be grumpy but he’s really a teddy bear underneath.”

That piques Stiles’ interest. “So he might not hate me?”

Allison pats his head. “Maybe not.” She takes a long drink from her cup. “So why are you so interested in him?”

“I think you mean obsessed,” Isaac whispers.

“It’s because I’m horny,” Stiles tells them all. Both Allison and Erica raise their eyebrow, so he elaborates: “I’m practically celibate right now, okay?”

Erica rolls her eyes. “You slept with that guy last week. What’s his name – Rick?”

“Yeah,” and Stiles sighs a little at the memory of Rick with the amazing mouth, Rick who gave Stiles the best blowjob he’s had in months. “Think he’s here?”

She shrugs at him. “I don’t care,” she says. “Just point me in Boyd’s direction before you go on the prowl.”

Stiles does one better; he manages to get Erica off the couch and all the way over to where Boyd is standing by the keg. If Boyd is surprised at having a wasted Erica dumped into his arms he doesn’t show it, just thanks Stiles and shoves him off in the direction of the crowded dance floor.

As it turns out, Rick isn’t there. Stiles tries to find a suitable replacement, but it’s slim pickings and in the end he gives up, dancing and grinding until he can feel himself drooping with exhaustion. Across the room there’s one of Erica’s new girls making eyes – Malia, he thinks her name is – but his buzz isn’t what it was an hour ago and he kind of just wants to lie down. The couches are all taken, and he doesn’t really know any of the Phi Ep girls, so the best bet seems like going to find his own bed.

“I’m gonna go home,” he yells to Isaac, but he barely looks from where he’s grinding against Allison so Stiles just starts picking his way through the crowd.

The Phi Epsilon house is at the far end of the row and not the end with the Alpha house, so Stiles resigns himself to a long walk home. He’s a third of the way when a car pulls up alongside him. The UCPD logo gleams along the metal and Stiles sends out a quick prayer that it’s not one of the grouchy deputies, like maybe Haigh or Harris who both hate him with a passion.

But when the window winds down it’s just Derek, who immediately looks like he wants to roll the window back up when he realises it’s Stiles.

“Hey!” Stiles shouts with a grin. “How’s it going, Deputy Derek?”

Derek glares at him out the window. “It’s Deputy Hale to you,” he says. “What are you doing out here?”

“Walking home,” Stiles tells him.

If Derek’s surprised he doesn’t show it, just squints at Stiles like he’s trying to figure him out. “Having you been drinking?” he asks.

Stiles puts on his most innocent expression. “What makes you say that?”

“You smell like beer,” Derek says slowly.

“You going to arrest me, officer?” Stiles says with a wink.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “If I give you a sobriety test, will you fail?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Stiles tells him petulantly. “I’m not doing anything, just walking.”

“You’re weaving all over the road, Stilinski.” Derek looks like he’s a second away from pointing a finger at him. “Public intoxication.”

Stiles laughs a little. “Okay, no, my dad is a Sherriff, I know what counts as public intoxication. I can quote the law for you if you want.” Derek frowns at him but he just keeps grinning. “And it’s Stiles.”

Derek’s frown deepens. “Stiles?”

“My name,” Stiles tells him with a grin. “No one calls me Stilinski. Except my coach in high school, but he was a total tool.”

Derek’s mouth twitches like he’s going to smile, but the rest of his face stays stony. “Get in,” he says finally, reaching over to open the door. “I’m not letting you walk all that way in this state. You’ll probably get mugged.”

A grin breaks out over Stiles’ face. “You’re the best,” he says, and lets himself crumple into the seat.

They drive in silence. Stiles wants to keep the conversation going but can feel where Derek is tense, the annoyance coming off him in waves. He knows he likes to push, but there’s a difference between pushing and pushing your luck.

At the end of the row the house is lit up in tacky Halloween decorations, looming out of the darkness like something out of a movie. Derek shakes his head, almost mournfully. “How can you live here?” he mumbles.

It makes Stiles laugh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, shoving the door open with uncoordinated fingers. He’s halfway out into the cold night air when he turns back. “Thanks for the ride,” he says, grinning.

Then, without thinking, he leans over to press his lips to Derek’s cheek. The skin is soft under the curve of his lip, the faint hint of stubble prickling his chin. It feels – it feels like something secret, something forbidden, and Stiles starts to pull back, but that’s when Derek turns his head. Stiles’ lips skate unbidden over his flesh, catching on the sharp hairs of his beard, until he can feel the distinct shape of Derek’s mouth against the corner of his.

He feels more than hears Derek’s quiet intake of breath.

“What –” he whispers, almost against Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles jerks back, feels his heart pounding in his chest; he wonders if this close Derek can see the way his pulse fluttering at his neck. “I should go to sleep,” he says. “Um. Thanks again – for the ride.”

The words hang in the air for a long second, Derek just watching him with wide eyes, lips still parted in surprise. Then Derek’s eyes clear and his face snaps back into that familiar scowl.

“Don’t get so drunk next time,” he scolds. “Make sure your friends get back safe.”

Stiles nods mutely and lets the door fall shut. He flinches away when Derek revs the engine, speeding away like a bad out of hell. In front of him the house looks like a monster, the lights throwing strange shadows around the windows and doors.

The buzz is fading and now Stiles just feels tired, a little hollow. He slumps down to sit on the curb, head in his hands. _Jesus_ , he thinks, _what a fucking night_.

-

Derek resolutely doesn’t think about Stilinski for the rest of his shift. He doesn’t think about him when he’s breaking up a fight at another Halloween party, or when he’s changing out of his uniform, or when he says goodbye to Parrish. He doesn’t think about him all the way home, right up until the moment he gets in the shower and finds himself suddenly, blindingly hard.

“Fuck,” he says out loud. “What the fuck.”

His voice echoes back to him, mocking. In the other room he can hear Laura shuffling about, turning off lights, locking the door. She knocks briefly on the door to call out a goodnight. Derek pretends not to hear her, too busy shoving his head under the water in the hopes that it kills his boner.

He’s not surprised when it doesn’t.

When he gets fully into the shower, he washes himself but he avoids his dick, cleaning everywhere else. It goes well until he’s trying to scrub away the pen mark on his leg where Laura caught him with it this morning and his fingers brush against it for a second.

A moan stutters out unbidden, and Derek drops his head against the tiles, finally wraps a hand around himself. It’s slick from the water, grip not quite tight enough, but it’s good, so good it almost hurts.

He tries to think of other things while he jerks off: his ex girlfriend, the porn he watched the other night, but his traitorous brain supplies him with Stilinski, the look on it when he’d pulled back in the car, eyes dark, mouth hanging open. He’d looked good enough to eat, and Derek had felt the want hit him like a punch to the gut.

It hits him again now, low and thrumming, building under his skin. God, he’s never wanted anyone quite like this, not Kate, not Jennifer. He’s never wanted anyone with such burning intensity that it feels like he’s going to climb out of his skin. .

He wonders what Stilinski would do if he knew about this, about what Derek was doing late at night with his hand around his cock. If Stilinski would stare at him with that same unabashed lust, or if he would reach out to touch, if he would let Derek touch back.

He wonders what it would be like to put his mouth on Stilinski’s neck, to lap at his skin, to taste the salt and sweat of his skin. If Stilinski would moan, if he would turn his head away to give Derek better access. If he would let Derek mark him for everyone to see.

And like that Derek’s coming, a moan stuttering out onto the tiles. Everything is liquid, his body boneless with pleasure. He hasn’t come that hard in a while.

He washes himself off and gets into bed. He absolutely doesn’t wonder about what it would be like to have Stilinski curled up next to him, head pillowed on Derek’s chest.

He doesn’t.

-

Another Friday night, another bar. Half the house is here with them and the room is noisy with the sound of laughter and yelling. Boyd is playing pool in the corner with some familiar guys; Scott and Isaac are taking shots. Stiles finds himself at a table with Danny, the two of them shooting the breeze, catching up with each other, when Danny suddenly nudges him hard. 

 “Hey,” he says suddenly. “Look – at the bar.”

Stiles looks. And what a surprise, Deputy Derek’s sitting on a barstool, half-drunk beer in front of him, head tilted back to stare up at the game playing on the tiny screen above the bar. His face is luminous in the low light, mouth stretched in a smile as he talks to the bartender. His neck is a long line that Stiles wants to bite. He has to turn away for the sake of self preservation.

“What do you think he’s doing here?” he asks, gulping at his drink to quench his sudden thirst.

Danny shrugs. “Night off,” he guesses. He fixes Stiles with an amused stare. “So you gonna go talk to him or what?”

Stiles frowns at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says and takes another sip of beer.

Danny rolls his eyes. “Yeah right. You’ve been trying to get into his pants for months. Here’s your chance.”

Stiles glances around the table. Everyone else is doing their own thing, drinking and dancing and laughing. He glances back at Danny: “You don’t mind being left alone?”

Danny snorts. “Nice try,” he says, and shoves at Stiles until he gets out of the booth. “Go get him tiger.”

Stiles is still laughing when he gets to the bar and shoulders his way in between Derek and the girls sitting next to him. “Hey,” he says to the bartender, trying to be casual, like he’s not brushing elbows with the guy he’s been fantasizing about for so long, “Can I get another pitcher?”

The bartender nods, and out of the corner of his eye Stiles sees Derek turn slowly at the sound of his voice.

“Stilinski,” he says, and his voice is as gruff as Stiles remembers from the other night. “Should I be arresting you for underage drinking?”

Stiles turns to him, one eyebrow raised. “Are we still on that?” he asks casually, turning to Derek and propping himself on the bar. “And didn’t I tell you to call me Stiles?”

It’s Derek’s turn to raise a brow. “You remember that,” he says, more statement than question.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Dude, I was drunk but I wasn’t that drunk.”

Derek blinks at him, before he flushes suddenly. And _oh_ , Stiles remembers that too, leaning over in the dark to smear his lips along the sharp line of Derek’s cheekbone, the feeling of stubble grating over his lips.

He looks away embarrassed and wonders if he should maybe leave, but Derek is moving over to make space for his at the bar so he figures it’s not too bad. He perches on a free stool, leaning on the bar, trying to be as casual as possible.

Derek’s eyes flicker over him in the low light. “Are you legally allowed to be in here?” he asks.

Stiles laughs, takes out his wallet to show Derek his ID. “I told you before – I’m 21. Have been for a while.”

He jerks nervously when Derek’s hand snaps tight around his wrist, and he pulls Stiles’ card closer so he can inspect it. Stiles can see the way he’s evaluating it, trying to figure it out if it’s fake of not. Eventually though Derek just releases him without a word, and Stiles finally lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Happy birthday,” Derek says after a moment, “For whenever.”

Stiles smiles at him, lopsided and happy. “Thanks. Although I’m a little disappointed you didn’t get me a present.”

Derek frowns, surprised, then his mouth curves upwards too. “I’ll buy you a beer,” he says, smiling like he’s doing Stiles a favour.

Stiles laughs, then leans in a little closer, dropping his voice. “That’s not the kind of present I had in mind.”

He expects Derek to rear back, to growl at him, but all he gets is Derek’s eyes darkening, pupils suddenly blowing wide, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Stiles stares, open-mouthed: this is what Derek looks like when he’s turned on.

Stiles goes to pull away, but Derek wraps a hand around his arm again. “And what did you have in mind?” he asks.

His voice is so husky Stiles shivers. “Well,” he says, “A blowjob would be nice. I’d _love_ you to fuck me.”

For a second he thinks he’s made a monumental mistake, he’s pushed it too far this time, but then Derek takes a shuddering breath, his fingers clenching tight enough to bruise. “Is that an invitation?” he rasps out.

“I don’t know.”  He bites his lip, watches the way Derek’s eyes tracks the movement. It makes him lean in a little, close enough for Derek to touch, and grins. “Is it?”

Stiles slides off his stool and moves away, careful to rub up against Derek’s back as he goes by. He’s barely makes it halfway down the corridor to the bathroom before there are hands sliding across his stomach, a warm body plastered against him.

“Such a fucking _tease_ ,” Derek says in his ear, voice pitched low and so seductive it makes something twist low in Stiles’ belly. He grabs him by the hips and turns him to press him against the wall. “If you don’t mean it, you need to tell me now.”

Stiles stares at him, Derek’s face so shrouded in shadow all he can make out is the gleam of his eyes, the slick curve of his bottom lip in the dark. He can feel the bass pounding against his back, sliding along his bones like electricity, everything in him climbing higher and higher at the feel of Derek’s body pressed all along him from head to toe.

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he says, and rolls his hips up so that Derek can feel where his cock is hard as a rock in his jeans.

Derek stares at him for a second, before his mouth is on Stiles’, plundering, wrecking, and all Stiles can do is hold on. He hasn’t felt like this in a while, like every part of him is on fire, singing at the touch of Derek’s hand on his neck, the curl of Derek’s tongue against his. He can’t help the way he presses into him, desperate, noises escaping from his mouth that he thinks vaguely he should be embarrassed about.

It’s okay though, because someone else is embarrassed for him: “Get a room,” a voice says loudly behind them, and Derek pulls back to glare over his shoulder.

“Come on,” he says, wrapping a big hand around Stiles’ wrist and tugging him, through the door at the end of the hallway and into the alley behind.

Out here, the air is cool against Stiles’ overheated skin, but Derek’s hand is still around his wrist, a brand which he used to drag Stiles down into the darkness. He pushes him hard and Stiles stumbles into the wall, back scraping over the brick as Derek slides forward to rub in one sinuous line along his body.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he admits, lips brushing against Stiles’ mouth. “All that flirting, fucking harassing me.” He gives him one kiss, two, bruising, teeth digging into Stiles’ lower lip. “Was wondering if we’d end up here.”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Stiles says, then glances to the side and has to roll his eyes when he finally gets a look at where they actually are; “Oh wow, this literally couldn’t get any hotter. Making out by a dumpster. I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Derek growls. “Will you shut up?” and he leans in to bite at Stiles’ lips again, ferocious and demanding, making Stiles’ blood rush south. When he pulls back, Stiles can feel the way his lips are slick and raw.

“Well,” he mutters, hands sliding down to dig into Derek’s ass, “When you put it that way.”

It’s the right thing to say, because Derek pounces on him again, all tongue and teeth, lapping at Stiles lips as he fits one leg between Stiles’, knee pushing up hard against his ball. It makes Stiles grunt and push forward, riding the tense muscle of Derek’s leg.

“How much do you work out?” he hisses, dropping his head forward onto Derek’s shoulder as he slips his hands under Derek’s shirt, up the curve of his back, along the sharp shapes of his abs. “Like, this should be illegal. You’re illegal.”

Derek bites his ear sharply and Stiles feels rather than hears the moan that rumbles through him. “ _Jesus_ ,” Derek swears, breath hot against the curl of Stiles’ ear. “You fucking – you are such a pain in my _ass_.”

Stiles laughs, hiccupping it out against Derek’s shirt. “That’s not the only thing I want to be in your ass.”

Derek snarls. “Just shut the fuck up.” He shoves Stiles harder against the brick, grinding his leg against the line of Stiles’ dick, leaning in to bite at his neck when he throws his head back. “Your mouth, I swear to God.”

“You like it?” Stiles asks. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds wrecked.

“What do you think?” Derek hisses, and punctuates his words with an aggressive thrust of his hips that has Stiles writhing. “Every time I look at you I just want to kiss you. It makes me think about what you’d look like on your knees, if those lips would look as good stretched around my dick.”

It makes Stiles buck and whimper, rolling his hips up, but Derek keeps him pinned, keeps him desperate, trapped between the wall and the bulk of his body.

“Not so cocky now,” he says, teeth digging in sharply as he nips and sucks.

“Shut up,” Stiles bites out. “Come on – I thought we were doing something here.”

Derek laughs against the skin of Stiles’ throat, reaching down to flick the button of his jeans open. Oh god, this is really happening, Derek’s hand against his skin, wrapping around his cock, huge and hot. It feels fantastic; he’s not going to last long like this. Stiles can hear himself moaning when Derek squeezes in just the right way and Derek’s answering rumble that vibrates through him, right down to his bones.

And of course that’s when the door opens and Scott tumbles out, head twisting this way and that, calling out: “ _Stiles_ , you gotta help!”

Stiles tries to pull away from Derek’s grip but he’s pinned tight, so he just sticks his head forward to peer at Scott over the dumpster. “What could you possibly want right now?” he shouts to him.

Scott fixes him with a desperate stare. “Dude,” he calls, “Isaac’s puking. I can’t carry him home by himself.”

“Get Boyd to help you,” Stiles yells back. “I’m a little _busy_ right now.”

“Come on,” Scott says; “I need my VP.”

That makes Stiles pause; he must really be desperate if he’s pulling that card. He thumps his head back against the brick savagely, before fixing Derek with his most apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I really don’t want to go.”

Derek pulls back a little, although his gaze stays fixed to Stiles’ mouth. “I’ll drive you,” he tells him.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s cool. I gotta go. You should enjoy your night.”

Derek’s face shutters. “Alright,” he says, stepping back, giving Stiles the room to squeeze past him.

“I’ll see you soon,” Stiles tries, but Derek just takes another step.

“Scott’s waiting,” he says.

Stiles wants to reach out, hands twitching by his sides, but Derek’s face has gone cold, distant, so he just slides away, buttoning up his jeans as he walks towards Scott.

“Thanks, man,” Scott is saying as he reaches him, “I owe you.”

“Sure,” Stiles replies, slinging his arm around Scott’s shoulders. “No problem.”

But at the door he can’t resist taking one last look at Derek down the alley, the outline of his face silhouetted in the light.

-

“So what’s wrong with you?” Cora asks two days later over lunch, mouth half full with burger.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Derek admonishes. He drinks his coke, lets the sweetness wash over his tongue. “And there’s nothing wrong with me, shut up.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “Yeah right, like I don’t know when you’re sad about something. Laura says you’re moping.”

“Laura doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Derek picks at his fries, pushing them around the plate. “So how’s living in the house? How are your _sisters_?”

He means it to be mocking – he completes disapproves of Cora joining a sorority, of her becoming one of those girls that he sees drunk on Thursday nights on the row – but Cora just laughs and launches into a story about her roommate. Derek listens with half an ear, eyes flicking around the room.

Of course that’s when the door opens and a group of guys fall in, their voices and laughter raucous in the quiet of the diner. Amongst them is Stiles, cheeks flushed red, hood pulled up over his head. He’s grinning, wide and open, and Derek’s heart clenches a little.

Cora turns in her seat to see what he’s looking at and a smile breaks out over her face. She sticks her arm up in the air, waving: “Stiles! Over here!”

Stiles starts to move in their direction and Derek tries to think of what to say, how to make this is less awkward. All he can think about it the feel of Stiles’ body underneath him, pressed up against a dirty alley wall, the weight of his dick in Derek’s hand.

“How are you?” Cora is saying, smiling up at Stiles obliviously. “Have you met my brother? This is Derek.”

Stiles glances his way then down at his shoes; it takes Derek a moment to realise he’s blushing. “Yeah.” He rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ve met.”

“Hey,” Derek says, trying to keep his tone calm. “How are you?”

“Great,” Stiles tells him with a weak smile. God, the atmosphere is so awkward, the tension almost palpable. “How are you?”

 _Could be better_ , Derek wants to say, _could have got laid the other night, could’ve found out what you looked like when you come, but I didn’t and that kind of sucked_.

“Fine,” he says.

“Um.” Stiles glances at Cora quickly. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “I, um – I wanted to apologise, for the other night.”

Out of the corner of his eye Derek can see Cora watching him curiously. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Stiles, desperately hoping that Stiles isn’t going to say anything.

Stiles, of course, just barrels on. “Yeah, but I didn’t – I wanted to stay. I just, I had to help and –” His eyes are so wide when they land on Derek. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Cora asks, then leans back in her seat when Derek glares at her. “Sorry, _Jesus_.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says to Stiles. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

Stiles looks like he wants to say something more but a voice yells his name loudly and he turns, surprised. “I have to go,” he mumbles, flashing a small smile. “I just –sorry.”

He disappears quickly and Derek tries not to thump his head down onto the table. He doesn’t want Stiles to know he’s so affected by him. When he glances up Cora’s eyebrow is nearly at her hairline.

“So that’s what’s wrong, huh?”

Derek shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Cora snorts. “No, really, I’ve seen standoffs that were less tense. I mean, the way you two were looking at each other –”

Derek doesn’t mean to growl but that’s what comes out. “Don’t,” he says, tone low like a warning. “Cora, just – leave it alone.”

She frowns at him, and for a second Derek sees the pity flash in her eyes. “Okay,” she says, but Derek has a sinking feeling she’s not going to let it go. Not yet.

-

Stiles can’t quiet admit to himself that he’s miserable so he hides away in his room and hopes no one notices it. It takes a week before anyone calls Stiles out on it.

“Stop moping,” Scott says, grabbing Stiles’ comforter to drag it away from him.

Stiles rolls up tighter into his pile of blankets. “I’m not moping,” he hisses out. “Scott – Scott, _stop it_.”

Too late. Scott pulls all the blankets away from him, leaving Stiles shivering on the bed in his boxers. “Seriously,” he says, dumping them on the floor. “This is stupid. Just call him or something.”

Stiles sighs, scrubs at his face. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me. You should’ve seen him at the diner, man – he didn’t even want to look at me.”

Scott slumps onto the bed next to him. “Okay, that sucks, but this is getting ridiculous. You can’t just lie in bed and be sad. You’re being pathetic”.

Stiles considers it. He’s been skipping class, avoiding people, staying in when everyone else is going out. He wastes hours lying in bed watching TV and, fuck, moping. He’s moping. Scott’s right, he is being pathetic.

He sighs again, finally sitting up to look at Scott. “I think I scared him off,” he admits quietly.

Scott just snorts. “Dude, if he was the type to get scared by _you_ then he wouldn’t be working here.” He pushes off, headed for the door. “Come on, Stiles, you’re smart. Put a plan together. Figure out how to win him back.”

“This isn’t a romcom,” Stiles shouts after him as he disappears into the corridor. “It doesn’t work like that.”

There’s no answer. Stiles frowns at the door, eyes on the whorls in the wood. It doesn’t work like that, does it?

-

“I gave your number to Stiles,” Laura says.

Derek pauses, hands stilling where he’s chopping carrots. “Why would you do that?” he asks carefully.

Laura frowns at him. “Well where else is he going to get it?”

“Did you think that maybe I didn’t want him to have my number?”

It makes Laura snort. “Yeah right.” She reaches over to take the knife out of Derek’s hand before he can do something stupid like throw it at her. “Look, he’s going to call you and ask you on a date. And you’re going to say yes, okay?”

Derek digs in his heels. “ _Not okay_.” He grabs for the knife but she holds it out of his reach. “Laura, I don’t want to go on a date with him.”

“You’re a shitty liar,” Laura tells him. Derek opens his mouth on another protest but she beats him to it. “Look, I know what you’re going to say. He’s too young. You’re not over Jennifer. You’re not into guys. Blah blah blah, I don’t care. He’s hot and you want him. So when he calls you say _yes_.”

The fight goes out of Derek. Of course Laura knows all his excuses, know how to counter all of them. “Okay,” he says, “I will.”

Which is how, a week later, he’s sitting in the booth at a restaurant close to campus, Stiles opposite him in a shirt that isn’t plaid, grinning like he’s won a prize.

“Stop smiling like that,” Derek tells him. “You look like an asshole.”

“I am an asshole,” Stiles says, like Derek doesn’t already know that. “But you love it.”

Derek ignores it. “So, what’s been going on with you?” he asks instead.

Stiles smiles, and starts talking, letting Derek lean back in the booth and watch him. He’s so animated when he talks, Derek notices, as Stiles goes on about his fraternity and their latest hijinks. His hands wave about, moving this way and that, almost knocking things flying on the tabletop. Derek remembers when Stiles was drunk, the way those hands gripped at Derek’s shirt, grabbed at his ass. He wonders if they’d be just as lively when Stiles is getting fucked.

“See something you like?”

Stiles’ voice is low and interested, a note of arousal ringing through it. Derek blinks and realises he’s been staring at Stiles’ hands for the last few minutes, and he feels himself flush, embarrassed.

“How are your exams? Derek tries, but Stiles’ grin is sharp and predatory.

“Oh no,” he says, leaning forward so Derek can see the jut of his collarbones peeking out from the collar of his shirt. “I think we should talk about _this_.”

Derek frowns at him, confused, then he feels Stiles’ socked foot brushing his calf under the table, then the inside of his thigh, then deliberately pressing down on his crotch. Derek grabs it before Stiles can do anything more.

“What are you _doing_?” he hisses. “We’re in public.”

Stiles just winks at him. “We are?” he asks innocently. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He wriggles his foot in Derek’s grip, making his hand press against his dick. God, it feels good, too good; Derek stifles a moan.

“Stop it,” he says, but his heart isn’t in it.

They stay like that for a moment, Stiles foot rubbing back and forth over Derek’s pants until they’re both flushed, more focused on each other than their food. Derek’s eyes feel like they’re too wide, too obvious, and across the table Stiles looks just as wrecked.

Eventually Stiles pulls his foot back an inch; his Adam’s apple bobs slowly as he swallows. “Want to come back to mine?” he asks, voice cracking over the words.

Derek laughs. “Not a chance,” he says, and when Stiles tenses he rubs his knuckles into the underside of his foot in apology. “You have a roommate.”

He sees when Stiles gets it, the sudden knowing look in his eyes. “Oh yeah?” His eyes are dancing. “You gonna do me in your car? In the back of your cruiser?”

“No.” Derek leans forward conspiratorially, and Stiles copies, eyes intrigued. “I’m going to take you to my apartment and I’m going to pin you down on my bed and I’m going to fuck you.”

Stiles gulps. They leave pretty soon after.

They don’t make it to the apartment. They don’t even make it to the car. Halfway down the street Stiles shoves him into an alley – oh god, _another_ alley – and drags him down to the end where the streetlights can’t reach.

“Fuck,” he says, panting against Derek’s mouth. This close his pupils are huge; he looks like he’s drugged. “I can’t stop thinking about this. About you. Jesus, just – take your fucking pants off.”

“You’re so romantic,” Derek tells him, but he unbuckles his belt, thumbs open the button, drags down the zip. “What are you going to do, Stiles?”

Stiles grins, wicked, and drops to his knees. He looks gorgeous like this, the faint light from the street catching the line of his cheekbone, the curve of his neck. When he looks up at Derek his eyes are dark pools and Derek’s heart stops.

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

Stiles just snorts against the fabric of his trousers. “Yeah I fucking do.” His hands dip under Derek’s underwear, cool against his overheated flesh as he pulls his dick out. He drops his head into the curve of Derek’s hip. “I’m gonna blow you now, that okay?”

Derek just stares at him. “What kind of question is that?”

Stiles’ eyes are bright as he mouths at the side of Derek’s cock. When he laughs his breath gusts hot over his skin. “The most important kind.”

His mouth is right there, so close but still not close enough. Derek winds his hands into Stiles’ hair, tugging slightly, and Stiles pulls against his hold.

“Please,” Derek pleads with him. In the night air his voice sounds almost reverent. He digs his thumb into the corner of Stiles’ mouth, the head of his cock sliding wet across Stiles’ lips. “I want – Stiles, let me. _Please_.”

Stiles finally takes pity on him, sliding his mouth down over him, and _yes_ , that’s it, right there, the hot wet of his mouth, the feel of his tongue flicking under the head, rubbing over the vein. Derek tries to buck up, to get Stiles to take in more, but Stiles has him pinned against the wall, long fingers wrapped tight over his hips. Derek just has to stand still and take it.

He starts talking when Stiles finds his rhythm, bobbing and sucking, filling the alley with loud slurping noises. “So good,” Derek can hear himself saying; “Just like that. You – so beautiful, Stiles. You – I –”

Stiles glances up at him through those long lashes, and his eyes are watering but there’s desire there, a sharp lust that makes Derek dizzy. As he watches, Stiles lets go with one hand and slides it down to his pants, unbuttoning them deftly. He’s – oh god, he’s jerking himself off, short sharp strokes, head of his cock jutting obscenely out of his pants. He looks like something out of a porno.

“Fuck, _Stiles_.”

Below him, Stiles is moaning around Derek’s dick like he can’t enough, mouth sloppy and wet, and Derek can feel it building, the tension in Derek’s spine ratcheting up, his balls tightening – it’s going to be over in a matter of moments.

“Stiles,” he grits out through his teeth, “Stiles, fuck, I’m gonna.”

Stiles doesn’t pull back, just shoves his head forward until Derek hits the back of his throat and like that it’s over, Derek’s coming, spots dancing in his vision, his hands tightening viciously in Stiles’ hair.

He comes to after a long moment to Stiles’ suckling gently at his dick, cleaning it off with a satisfied smirk, but Derek can still see where his hand is moving between his legs, the stark line of his cock against his pants.

“Come on,” Derek tells him. “I want to see.”

Stiles makes a strangled sound and his hand is speeding up, a blur almost in the dark. He throws his head back so Derek can see the long line of his throat, all the places he wants to lick and suck. Stiles looks close, so he carefully moves his foot to slot between Stiles’ knees, the tip of his shoe pressing against Stiles’ balls.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, voice raw like he’s the one sucking someone off, “Come for me, Stiles.”

Stiles whines, loud enough that Derek flinches a little in fear, and his head drops to Derek’s hip as his dick spurts thick ropes of come all over his pants and Derek’s shoes.

“Jesus,” he pants against Derek’s hip. “Wow, that was – wow.”

“Are you speechless?” Derek asks incredulously. “Did I actually make you speechless?”

“Shut up,” Stiles moans, rubbing his face against Derek’s skin. “How are you forming sentences right now?”

Derek tucks himself away and sinks down until he’s level with Stiles. “You are too,” he reminds him, running his hand gently through his hair. Stiles leans into like a cat, rubbing his face into Derek’s palm. “You okay?”

Stiles nods. “Great.” He glances down at the mess he’s made of himself then up at Derek. His grin is lecherous. “Still want to take me back to your apartment?” he asks.

He sounds confident, flirtatious, but Derek can see the nervous way Stiles’ fingers are fiddling with the hem of his shirt, the way he can’t quite meet Derek’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Derek whispers, leaning in to press his mouth to Stiles’. “And this time I’m not going to let you leave.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this ended up being a lot less Sterek and a lot more Scott and Stiles being bros, whoops. I didn't really explain clearly that Melissa and the Sherriff are married and all that.  
> Also apologies for any and all mistakes, I'm English and have very little understanding of the Greek system beyond what Google and endless viewings of Animal House/American Pie can tell me. 
> 
> Next time: senior year baby! We'll see if I can make Sterek happen this time


End file.
